Read Behind His Eyes - Convicted: The Missing Years for Free Online Page A

the country’s most eligible bachelors. What would you expect? Perhaps flowers and romance? Maybe candlelight and soft music?
    I’m Claire Nichols, formally Rawlings, and I wish I could say that was what I experienced. I wish I could tell you how Anthony Rawlings wooed me, seduced me, and romantically worked his way into my heart. Unfortunately, my reality was starkly different.
    Although it now seems inconceivable, when I first met my ex-husband—before my life changed forever—I didn’t know Anthony Rawlings nor did I know of him. I’ve read numerous accounts that paint me as nothing more than a calculating gold digger. I may never be able to convince the world otherwise, but the truth is that I never wanted wealth, or fame, or any of the things that entered my life on that fateful evening when I saw his dark eyes for the very first time. Before that night, my life was amazingly simple and yet complex. As an out-of-work meteorologist, I tried to make ends meet by tending bar at a local restaurant. I had friends, a family, and my life was content. I didn’t realize how truly happy I was until my life was taken away.
    Never has nor ever will money be my barometer of happiness. I can tell you with all certainty that money does not buy happiness.
    There were many other truisms that I learned after March 15, 2010. The most important was about appearance: never doubt its power or importance. It was a lesson that I mastered to perfection. My outstanding dedication to that lesson helped to perpetuate the misconceptions regarding my relationship with Anthony Rawlings.
    Am I writing this book for money? No. Am I writing it to exact revenge? No.
    I’m telling my story for one reason and one reason only because I need to have a voice in my reputation. I’ll no longer sit quietly and allow the world to be misinformed—or more accurately, disinformed—at my expense. You will soon learn that I was complacent for far too long. Some of the details from my story will be difficult for me to share as well as difficult for you to read. I can’t make you believe me. All I can do is tell my story to anyone willing to listen.
    My reality began on March 15, 2010, in an establishment where I worked as a bartender. Anthony Rawlings appeared out of nowhere and sat down at my bar. Throughout the evening he was witty, charming, and debonair: all the qualities you’d expect. He asked to meet me for drinks after my shift. Although I had a firm rule against dating customers, Anthony Rawlings had a way of making you forget your rules and play by only his instead.

    Brent swallowed back a bitter laugh. Damn—she was spot on. He continued reading.

    Although I agreed to his invitation, as a safety net I refused to leave my place of employment. He willingly acquiesced and waited for me. When my shift was over, we sat, drank wine, and chatted effortlessly about nothing in particular. Sometime during our conversation, he asked about my aspirations and dreams. With a deep baritone voice that has graced both my nightmares and my dreams, he began, “Claire, surely you don’t want to spend forever serving drinks to stooges like us.”
    Clearly, he was a successful man, and I was flattered by his genuine interest. I explained my wrinkle in employment, and he offered to help: he proposed that my dreams could be as simple as a signature away. With a rush of enthusiasm, he presented me with a napkin from the bar, and asked, “Would you be willing to give this all up for something bigger? What if this napkin were truly a contract and what if it said WEATHER CHANNEL at the top? Would you be willing to sign on the line for something like that?”
    Perhaps it was the wine, but I’d say it was his magnetism. His words and tone enveloped the booth where we sat and filled me with a false sense of hope for a future and a career I’d lain awake nights dreaming of experiencing. For a brief moment in time, he made it seem obtainable. I bit—hook, line, and